


Where To Go

by rory_the_dragon



Series: Miles And Miles [3]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Ambiguously Underage, Awkward Conversations, Henry Pov, M/M, Non-Fairytale AU, The Lost Boys Are A Gang
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-14
Updated: 2013-12-14
Packaged: 2018-01-04 14:10:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1081948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rory_the_dragon/pseuds/rory_the_dragon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Henry’s halfway through his omelette when his mom slings herself into the booth opposite and says, “So, kid, wanna talk to me about the underwear I found in our laundry that doesn’t belong to you?”</p>
<p>(Or: the one where Emma finds out.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Where To Go

**Author's Note:**

> This work is set in the same universe as Seek You Out and Take Me Home which I have dubbed the 'Miles And Miles' verse, an all human, no fairytale universe which still takes place in Storybrooke. The Lost Boys are a gang. Peter and Henry are in an established relationship.
> 
> Set before Seek You Out and Take Me Home.
> 
> Henry is 17 and Peter is 21.
> 
> (I did originally intend for Miles and Miles to be solely Peter POV but Henry really wanted to tell this story.)

 

Henry’s halfway through his omelette when his mom slings herself into the booth opposite and says, “So, kid, wanna talk to me about the underwear I found in our laundry that doesn’t belong to you?”

Henry very carefully _doesn’t_ choke on his eggs. If only because he’s learnt two very important things from being friends with Wendy; one, never answer the question ‘ _What are you doing?_ ’ with ‘ _Nothing_.’ and two, that there is nothing more incriminating than making a big deal in your attempts to escape.

He chews, swallows, and looks his mom in the eye, because he’s seventeen years old and by now should be able to hide the new inhuman speed his heart’s just ratcheted up to in his chest. In theory. “Okay. What do you wanna talk about?”

Emma looks at him, narrows her eyes. “Well," She says, and Henry knows he's misstepped here. "We could start with the underwear, maybe hit the condoms in your drawer, then I’m thinking we end on, at the very least, the _name_ of your secret boyfriend, what do you think?”

This time, Henry does choke. “ _You went in my drawers?_ ”

An eyebrow rises. “Let’s assess here. Underage kid with condoms in his drawer. Concerned parent. Who has the moral high ground here, kid?”

Henry closes his mouth with a tight snap.

“That’s what I thought.” She smiles, eyes still hard but lips triumphant, before she reaches out to sweep a gentle hand through his hair. Something in her sags, softens, and the look in her eyes looks almost _hurt_. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

"Nothing's happened," He says, because he feels he should get that out first and because it's a lot easier question to answer even if it hasn’t been asked. "Wendy just gave them to me... _y'know_...in case."

God, he wants to die right now. This is so not a conversation he’d wanted to have ever, but especially not at 8am on a Tuesday in Granny’s diner.

"So Wendy knows them," Emma says, nodding as if he’s just confirmed something she’s been suspecting and Henry can see the Sheriff switch in her head switch firmly to on. Which is terrifying enough by itself, let alone when she’s in mama bear mode.

Emma’s never made a secret of the fact that she doesn’t entirely approve of his friends - too close to the kind of people she used to run with before Henry came along - but she’s always given them the benefit of the doubt, for his sake. Emma knows how lonely Henry was before, knows how much he’s changed since, and obviously doesn’t want to mess with that.

Now, Henry can rapidly see that benefit draining away as Emma mentally runs through the collective arrest records of Henry’s friends.

"Mom?" He says after a full minute of silence passes.

She blinks and looks at him. "Please tell me it's not the kid with the feathers in his hair."

"Felix," He corrects, quiet, deciding to _not_ make a fuss about the look of absolute dread in Emma’s face at the thought of Henry dating Felix. It’s insulting, yes, but as she said, Henry doesn’t have much moral high ground here. “And, no. It’s not him.”

Felix would eat Henry alive.

“So who?”

Henry hesitates, knows as soon as he’s done it that it was a bad move, because panic flares up in Emma’s eyes. “Oh god, kid, is it _that_ bad?”

“No!” Henry says, too loud for Granny’s Diner, and he draws a few looks their way, but it’s the truth. Peter’s not exactly a misunderstood little lamb, but he’s... _Peter_ and Henry’s pretty sure he’s falling for him, even if he’s got no basis of comparison. “No, it’s not. It’s just...I need you to be cool right now.”

“Be cool?” Emma raises an eyebrow. “My seventeen year old son is telling me to be cool about his potentially criminal boyfriend. Seriously, kid?”

“Just- When I tell you, you have to promise to hear me out, okay?”

“None of this is exactly inspiring confiden-”

“It’s Peter.”

It comes out without any planning, any preparation, weeks of Henry practising in front of the mirror wasted as it trips out of Henry’s mouth before he can hold it back because he’s been holding it back for nearly two months now, always snapping his mouth shut at the last second, fudging names in his stories or just plain not telling them, and Henry is glad right now, because he can finally _stop_.

...Just like Emma has.

“Mom?” He ventures, because Emma’s face is doing something very interesting.

“Peter? As in…?”

“Pan.” He confirms, wishing he hadn’t already finished his milkshake just for something to do with his hands. He’s pretty sure that Ruby’s listening to their conversation a few feet away, which means it’ll be all across Storybrooke before they even leave the diner, but right now all he can focus on is Emma’s face.

“Pan.” She states, voice flat. “Leader of The Lost Boys Pan, _that_ Pan? _That_ Pan is your boyfriend? _That_ Pan is the owner of the underwear on your bedroom floor?”

Henry will not blush, he _will not_.

“His name’s Peter,” He tries weakly.

His mom’s going to kill him. He’s going to die in Granny’s diner and it’s all Peter’s fault.

Then Emma does something completely unexpected; she laughs. Drops her head and starts chuckling quietly, shoulders vibrating, and Henry isn’t sure whether he needs to call an ambulance because his mom has clearly gone into shock here, when she lifts her head up again. There are tears in the corners of her eyes, tears of laughter, _hysterical tears_ , a part of Henry’s brain tells him. “Oh, _Henry_ ,” She says, breaking his name on a laugh and scrubbing her hand across her face. “You are definitely my son, aren’t you.”

She reaches out across the table and grasps his hand, rubs her thumb against the back of his knuckles, and she’s still smiling at him, fond and exasperated, so Henry chances a smile back. “You’re...You’re not mad?”

“Oh no. I’m furious,” She says, still smiling at him. “And there’s an arrest file two inches deep back at the station that agrees with me. But I can’t help but think that I kinda brought this on myself.” At that, she buries her face in her hands, huffs out sharply and straightens up.

Her eyes flash, and this is not going to be pretty.

“So, where do we start, kid? With his age? The fact that I have personally placed handcuffs on this kid more times than I can count? How he seems to _enjoy it_?” Her face pales. “No! Oh no, I do not need to know anything about _my kid’s sex life_ -”

“I don’t have a sex life!” It comes out much louder than he’d meant it to. He freezes, closes his eyes. He can feel every eye in Granny’s on him, feel the blush rising in his cheeks. When he chances a glance there’s no one looking at him, which means Emma has glared each and every one of them down, which means that he _might_ have a chance at not being grounded until college here.

“Henry,” Emma starts, and it’s soft, patient, like he’s ten years old again and _no, not happening, uh uh._

“Mom, you said you’d hear me out.” He says, quiet, looking determinedly at the spill of sugar stretching across the table. He hears a soft huff of air, resigned, and looks up.

“Okay, kid.” She waves a hand, sits back and folds her arms. Waits. “Go ahead.”

Henry...Henry hadn’t thought this far ahead, to be honest.

Look, he’s not under any delusions about Peter. He knows exactly who he’s dating, exactly why his mom looks about ready to place him under house arrest. He knows a lot of things. Like the way Peter looks at him sometimes, like Henry’s the only person worth looking at.

“I care about him,” He finally lands on, and it’s not right, doesn’t quite line up to all the ways Peter makes him feel, like he’s flying, but it’s enough for right now, for Emma. “And he cares about me.”

Emma just looks at him for a long while, and Henry lets himself be looked at. He wonders what she sees.

“Okay,” She finally says, nodding, then again more firmly, “Okay.”

“Okay... _What_?” But Emma’s already getting up, shrugging into her Sheriff’s jacket, making to leave as if they haven’t just had a Conversation over eggs at Granny’s. “ _Mom_?”

“Dinner. Friday. Seven.” She says instead of answering, and Henry’s mouth drops open without his consent because he’s got to be mishearing her right now, there is no way she means what he thinks she means. “If he’s not on time I reserve the right to shoot him.” And she walks out.

“You can’t shoot him!” is all Henry can manage to call after her as the door swings shut with a tinkle of the bell, leaving him with the check and a positively gleeful look in Ruby’s eyes.

 

***

 

“You’re kidding me.”

Admittedly, Henry could _probably_ have come up with a better time for bringing up Emma’s request - _demand_ \- than when Peter’s stretched out on top of him, kissing him like he wants to see if he can steal the breath from Henry’s lungs, hips hitching unconsciously against Henry’s and sending shivers dancing across Henry’s every nerve.

He didn’t exactly _plan_ it that way. It’s just very easy to get caught up in the constant _motion_ of Peter, feet lost under you and mind adrift until you’re being pressed into his couch and you’re not at all sure how you got there, with only the barest remembrance that there was _something important you had to tell him._

“Sorry.”

Peter’s eyes close and he drops his head down, forehead butting against Henry’s collar bone. He feels the press of Peter's lips to the skin there and can't help his smile, presses a kiss of his own to the shell of Peter's ear.

"Don't do that," Peter protests, still not lifting his head. "You can't be cute right now. It'll make saying no very hard."

"Sorry."

"And stop apologising. What's my one rule for Lost Boys?"

"I'm not a Lost Boy."

Peter waves a hand. "Semantics." He lifts his head, resting his chin on Henry's shoulder. "I've met your mom before."

"You've met my mom in handcuffs. _Stop grinning_!" He punctuates this last with a swat at Peter's head, wiping the self satisfied grin off his face. "Forgive me if I'd like my mom to meet my boyfriend in a situation where she's not reading him his Miranda rights."

Something flickers in Peter's eyes. Then his mouth curves upwards. "Boyfriend?"

Henry very suddenly feels every second of seventeen years old, hideously young. He gets defensive. "Well, what do you call someone you take home to meet your parents?"

Peter's grin is still wide. "If my parents were Emma Swan? Vastly unlucky." And he presses what has to be the softest kiss to Henry's mouth, eyes closed so that Henry can count every eyelash, a cling of lips that aches somewhere in Henry's chest. _Oh_.

Peter _liked_ it.

Henry can feel Peter's smile, can't help but mimic it, and if anyone walked in on them right now they'd look ridiculous, curled up on the couch, too busy smiling to be doing anything remotely close to kissing, and this is probably why Peter locks his door when Henry comes round. So no one can see the gentle edges Henry just keeps uncovering.

“It’s your own fault, really,” Henry manages when they separate, watches Peter’s left eyebrow dance higher up his forehead, a silent ‘ _do tell_ ’. “It was _your_ underwear she found,” he accuses, and Peter lets out a sharp bark of laughter.

“Which was entirely _your_ fault, I’ll remind you.” Peter does something with his hips to punctuate his point, pushes them tighter against him, sends Henry’s eyeballs rolling back in his head. “I’m twenty one, I shouldn’t be coming in my pants like a teenager.”

“I take exception to that.”

“ _You would_.” Peter cants his hips again, as if he’s trying to even the score, and grins so wickedly that it lights up every corner of his face and Henry can’t not kiss him, can’t not push his hand into Peter’s hair and pull him up, and Peter comes willingly, still grinning. This kiss is decidedly _not_ chaste, tongues and teeth and breath, until Henry can hear the pounding of his heart in his ears and he has to draw back to breathe.

Peter settles back into his previous position. “What does she know?” Peter asks, voice unconcerned but carefully so, the way he gets when he’s starting to get antsy. “Are we sleeping together?”

“We’re not sleeping together,” Henry reminds him, because, _technically_ that hadn’t been a lie.

Peter quirks an eyebrow at him. “...We aren’t _not_ sleeping together, though.”

“Semantics,” Henry echoes, laughs at the unimpressed look Peter levels at him. “So you’ll do it?”

He doesn’t mean for his voice to sound as _hopeful_ as it does.

Peter props himself up, hands either side of Henry’s head as he hangs over Henry, as if to examine him, and grimaces. Henry reaches up, brushes his thumbs against the soft skin of the inside of Peter’s wrists, and Peter screws up his face in resignation, presses their foreheads together. “Fine,” He huffs out, eyes still shut, and Henry is the one to press up, push their mouths together in a soft _thankyou_.

Peter responds immediately, sliding a hand under Henry’s head and tilting him into a better position, other hand still holding him up high enough that Henry has to push himself up onto his elbows to reach. Like this, Henry can’t control anything, has to let Peter dictate the whole kiss, and doesn’t know how he feels about that until he _does_ and Peter’s licking into his mouth, sucking on his bottom lip, teeth scraping so lightly that Henry _arches_ into it.

Peter’s hips lock, push him down and hold him still. “ _Ah, ah_. I thought we didn’t have a sex life. What would your mother say?” He can _feel_ Peter’s smirk against his mouth and seriously considers hitting him.

“I hate you so much right now,” He settles on instead, doesn’t get much of it out because Peter’s pressing back into his mouth, muttering a quiet ‘ _no you don’t_ ’ before focusing his attentions on pushing every thought of Emma out of Henry’s head.

 


End file.
